Some dreaded change to see,
He had unlocked the crystal gates
And set the spirit free.
Peace from above seemed to invest
That breathless form of clay,
The look, the smile, which lingered yet
Seemed eloquent to say-
"Be comforted, ye loved ones all,
Grieve not to part with me,
For though God calls me to himself,
Your child I still must be.
I know my little form of clay
Must press the cold damp sod,
But mourn not, for your babe hath flown
To the sheltering arms of God.
Then mother, dear, those grieving eyes
Turn from my still, dead face,
For powerless is thy love to win
It back to thy embrace."
And so the mother hushed her sobs,
Repressed her yearnings wild,
And with a heart resigned, though sad,
Gave up her darling child;
She felt that God in love recalled
The gift he once had given,
That though she mourned bereaved on earth
She should rejoice in Heaven.
And so with a pure Faith and Trust
Derived from God himself,
With tenderest care, the still pale form
She robed for its dreamless rest;
Back from the placid brow she swept
The dark and shining hair
And felt that henceforth angel-hands
Would smooth its tresses fair.
A casket rich and tiny
Enshrined the baby-form,
And flowers bright and fresh we brought,
Its beauty to adorn ;
And as we wove the garlands sweet,
By earth-friends kindly given,
We thought of the immortal wreaths
Which crowned her now in Heaven.
The little hands we gently crossed
Upon the peaceful breast,
That was never, never more to know
The throbbing of unrest.
Nor would the hazel eyes, undimmed,
A deeper shadow know,
Than that which rested on them now
From their fringed lids of snow.
The mother pressed a last warm kiss
Upon the pure, pale brow,
And thought upon its counterpart
In Heaven an angel now.
Of her beauteous child translated,
Free from the taint of sin,
And with a trusting heart thanked God
That He so kind had been.
You scarce would think so small a thing
Could leave a loss so large;
Her little light such shadow fling
From dawn to sunset's marge.
In other springs our life
With bannered bloom unfurled; But never, never match our wee
White Rose of all the world.
My mother, my mother, O let me depart;
Your tears and your pleadings are swords to my heart;
I hear gentle voices that chide my delay;
I see lovely visions that woo me away.
My prison is broken, my trials are o'er,
O mother, my mother, detain me no more.
O do not desert us! Our hearts will be drear,
Our home will be lonely, when you are not here;
Your brother will sigh 'mid his playthings, and say,
"I wonder dear William so long can delay:"
That foot like the wild wind, that glance like a star,
O what will this world be when they are afar?
This world, dearest mother, O live not for this;
But press on with me to the fulness of bliss ;
And trust me, whatever bright fields I may roam,
My heart will not wander from you and from home,
Believe me still near you on pinions of love,
Expect me to hail you when soaring above.
Well, go, my beloved! The conflict is o'er,
My pleas are all selfish, and I urge them no more;
Why chain your bright spirit down here to the clod,
So thirsting for freedom, so ripe for its God?
Farewell, then, farewell, till we meet at the Throne,
Where love fears no parting, and tears are unknown.
O glory! O glory! what music! what light!
What wonders break in on my heart, on my sight;
I come, blessed spirits, I hear you from high;
O frail, faithless nature, can this be to die?
So near; what, so near to my Savior and King?
O help me, ye angels, His glories to sing.
I had a dream last night, Mother,-
A dream replete with bliss;
I was in a world of light, Mother,
Not dark and cold like this;
There were skies serene and cloudless,
Sweet music filled the air,
And all was bright and beautiful,
For Jesus Christ was there.
He wore a crown of glory,
Containing pearls untold;
And "little children" sung to Him,
And struck their harps of gold;
I wept to think I had no harp,
That his praise I could not swell,
For he looked so pure and holy,
That I loved Him deeply well.
But brother Willie came to me,
And bade me not to cry;
He said I soon should have a harp
And dwell with him on high;
He wound his arms around my neck,
And kissed me on my brow;—
His eyes they looked so bright, Mother,
I can almost see them now.
This world has been all dark, Mother,
My eyes have never seen
The skies, so bright and beautiful,
The meadows, fresh and green-
And I have never gazed, Mother,
Upon your loving smile,
As you've told me of the Savior,
In tones so sweet and mild.
Dear Mother, I am going now
Where little Willie's gone;
Nay, do not weep, I know, Mother,
You'll meet us very soon, Your little Annie now will see, For all in Heaven is bright; I'm going, Mother, Willie's come To guide me there,-good-night.
OUR IDOL.
Close the door lightly,
Bridle the breath,
Our little earth-angel
Is talking with death.
Gently he woos her,
She wishes to stay,
His arms are about her-
He bears her away.
Music comes floating
Down from the dome;
Angels are chanting
The sweet welcome home.
Come, stricken weeper;
Come to the bed,
Gaze on the sleeper
Our idol is dead.
Smooth out the ringlets,
Close the blue eye-
No wonder such beauty
Was claimed in the sky;
Cross the hands gently
O'er the white breast,
So like a wild spirit
Strayed from the blest:
Bear her out softly,
This idol of ours,
Let her grave slumber
Be 'mid the sweet flowers.
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